


Coming to Terms

by talkingtothesky



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M, Period-Typical Sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:05:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2480729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talkingtothesky/pseuds/talkingtothesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gene reevaluates some things in the light of Sam's confession, but not everything is resolved. (Sequel to a fic by Dana, deals with events from episode 1x04)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coming to Terms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dana/gifts).



> Inspired by Dana's [A Matter of Expectation Versus Reality](http://lifein1973.livejournal.com/2577060.html), in which Sam has to explain to Gene that what Joni did to him was a form of rape. Read that first, or this won't make sense.
> 
> Warning for Gene's sexist attitudes and discussion of rape.

Despite his tiredness, Gene doesn't get much sleep that night.    
  
He's...confused. And slightly queasy, deep in his belly. The look of disappointment Sam had aimed at him, the vulnerable way he'd wrapped his arms around himself...these and other images replay automatically in Gene's mind's eye. He's not thinking deliberately on it, he is trying to drift off after all, but the general feeling of uncertainty keeps him restless through most of the small hours. He keeps attempting to focus on Sam's thankfully deep and steady breathing, but the affectionate response it typically generates in Gene gets swiftly replaced by cool guilt. Despite their closeness, he hasn't noticed Sam's been suffering...and Sam wasn't going to tell him, until he accidentally panicked and had to explain.   
  
Shortly after dawn, Gene jolts out of what is barely a doze when Sam slides his head off Gene's chest and stretches out on his back on his side of the mattress. Gene tracks his movements in the semi-dark, but Sam doesn't open his eyes or say anything, so Gene stays silent too. He finds he's cold without Sam's weight on him, tugs his dressing gown closed around his neck. Shoves his hands (which are itching to reach out and touch) deep in the pockets, screws his eyes shut and almost furiously wills sleep to come.   
  
Half an hour later, he decides it's no use. Eases himself out of bed as carefully as he can. Might as well be the one to make coffee, for once, since he's almost never up before Sam. In the kitchen, he's got the mugs out and the kettle's halfway to the boil before it occurs to him that Sam might want to sleep a bit longer, in which case Gene won't wake him with the noise. Gene turns it off again in a hurry, then stands in the middle of his kitchen blankly, unsure what to do with himself. He turns slowly on the spot until his eyes alight on the half-empty scotch bottle on the counter, abandoned there when Sam had demanded they go upstairs. Collecting a glass, he pours himself a measure, sits down at the table and allows the cogs to start turning in the not-so-mighty-when-sleep-deprived engine that is his brain.    
  
Rape. It's a question he routinely asks the pathologist when looking at a dead woman on a slab, as a way of narrowing down the motive in the first instance. Few cases where men have raped men hardly ever make it as far as CID and the ones that did he's stayed well clear of, bit too close for comfort. He hopes beyond hope they won't get one now Sam's with them, because he knows Sam would insist on investigating it, and Gene doesn't quite trust him not to out himself in the process.   
  
It's never occurred to Gene that women might rape men, because the statistics just do not bear that out in his experience. Men are taller, stronger and wider; that's simple, obvious biology. Women can be killers, sure, but in a passive way, like some bitter old dear putting poison in her hubby's tea. There's little to no likelihood of a physical attack, not ones that result in serious injury, anyway. There had been no violence, no blood on Sam's sheets, no damage done to him... except, perhaps, emotionally.   
  
At the time Gene had been pleased for Sam that he'd managed to get his end away. Bloke was so wound up a shag ought to have mellowed him a bit. It was a relief in a way to find that Sam was human - had base needs like the rest of them - and not only a case-solving, nit-picking, form-filling machine. He encouraged everyone's teasing because it seemed like a good thing for the uppity little twerp to be knocked down a few pegs. But even as he chipped away at his pride, he'd been concerned for Sam's honour, and that's why he'd gone to speak to Warren.    
  
Looking back now on the way he'd handled the situation, Gene feels incredibly guilty. In the light of Sam's confession, what he'd previously thought of as well-deserved ribbing now reveals itself to be a form of systematically kicking the man when already down. Joni might not have used force on Sam, but she had manipulated him physically, with the help of LSD to render him weak and pliant first. He doesn't know exactly how much Sam remembers about the event, but judging from his reactions last night it's enough to have a lasting effect.   
  
Gene's been making the mistake, he realises, throughout his career, of prioritizing the physical consequences above the emotional, because they're easier to fix and understand. Sam's an expert at highlighting Gene's mistakes. He also has differing definitions for things, and last night he'd talked about rape as a matter of consent, not violence. Drugging Sam had taken the choice away from him. And Gene had been mocking him for his choice of bed mate, for being naive enough to fall for the honey trap. He had missed the point entirely. No wonder Sam had decided not to tell him how he felt.   
  
Gene sighs heavily, pours himself another whisky. Thinks about Sam's body stretched out naked and helpless the day he burst through that door. He's got off to the mental image enough times, but now it feels different, like he's been preying on Sam's vulnerability. Gene feels dirty and wrong that despite this he still wants Sam trussed up beneath him, at his mercy, begging Gene to finish him off. It dawns on Gene that he would never have thought of Sam in a sexual light without that sight of him cuffed to the bed.   
  
And if that's a fact, then, they wouldn't be together if Sam hadn't been...   
  
Gene looks up and suddenly Sam's standing in the doorway.   
  
"Sam!" He nearly falls out of his chair in his haste to get up and stick the kettle on again. That accomplished, Gene steadies himself with two hands and his lower back against the edge of the worktop.   
  
Sam squints at him, rubbing one bleary eye. "Morning. You were being very quiet down here. For a moment I thought you'd buggered off to work without me."   
  
"Wouldn't do that, would I?"   
  
"Suppose not." Then very slowly, Sam smirks. "You're..." His sleepy gaze turns hungry, giving Gene the once over, and then again, from head to toe.   
  
Gene glances down at himself. He realises he hasn't bothered to put on pants, so he's starkers apart from his dressing down, which has fallen open just enough for his bits and bobs to be visible.    
  
"Oh. Whoops." He throws Sam what he hopes is a rakish smile, but might in fact be a vaguely cheerful grimace.   
  
He goes to cover himself up, but Sam gets there first, gently bringing the two sides together before pressing two fingers hard against the outside of the soft fabric.    
  
Little Gene doesn't so much as twitch. That's odd enough, given that he missed out last night an' all, but Sam's hand keeps rubbing and a lot of nothing keeps happening. Gene is absurdly relieved when the kettle boils and gives him an excuse to turn away. After retying the belt as tight as it'll go, he busies himself making the drinks, spooning out Sam's two sugars and his own four. He can't look Sam in the eye when he hands it over, which is probably just as well.    
  
They sit down at the table, and of course Sam notices the one thing Gene doesn't want him to. "Booze before breakfast?"   
  
Gene lays a hand on the bottle and tugs it closer to himself in case Sam sees fit to take it off him. With the fingertips of the other hand he traces meaningless shapes across the tabletop. "Listen, Sam. I've been thinking. About what you said last night. The way I treated you, before..."   
  
Sam's expression flows through a confused frown to surprised vulnerability to resigned forgiveness, all in the space of a few seconds. "I'm a big boy, Guv."   
  
"I know." Gene reaches out to cover Sam's hand with his. "But you shouldn't have to be. Not because of me."


End file.
